Who’s at the Wheel?

 

Written by Emma McCoy

3 minute read


I would like everyone to know that I am perfectly aware that there are things in life that I can’t control. I can’t make it rain or snow when I feel like it. The stoplight won’t turn green if I glare at it. If a San Diego driver decides to cut me off in traffic, well then that’s their choice, isn’t it? I can’t force a job to hire me, I can’t extend the day by a few more hours, and I certainly can’t make other people’s decisions for them. Life is full of things bigger than me that I can’t predict, manipulate, or control.

 

That said, there’s a little, tiny part of my brain that’s shocked every time things start to deviate from my plan. How could this be happening? I had it all under control! And then that little, tiny part of my brain starts taking up too much space and has me acting wonky in a way to try and regain that sense of control. Imagine this part of my brain as a little goblin-like creature crawling up from the trunk of a car, through the back seats, and eventually into the driver’s seat to get its grubby little hands on the wheel. That’s what it’s like when my sense of control is thwarted, and the goblin part of my brain gets the wheel in an attempt to get the car (me) back to the illusion of safety and control.

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Spoiler alert: it never works.

A lot has happened for me this past month. I’ve traveled nationally and internationally, attended two conferences, gotten a kidney infection, managed two close friends breaking up, worked around the class I teach melting down, and my roommate started packing up this week because she’s moving out soon. And I don't have anyone to replace her share of the rent, and it means losing a close friend and having to start over.


That’s a lot of things happening outside my control, and outside of my plan. There are plenty of things people reach for to try and feel in control: alcohol, drugs, endless phone scrolling, sex, self-isolating, anger, and work are a few numbing agents that come to mind. But if you’ve been reading the blog for a while, you’ll remember that my “control” habit of choice is food. Specifically, food restriction. I’m a lot better than I used to be, but yesterday I found myself counting calories, refusing to let myself have more, and feeling hungry for most of the day. That feeling of hunger, of feeling empty, is a way for me to feel in control of my body. I can control how much food I eat. Therefore, I’ll eventually be able to control everything else.


Now, whatever your numbing agent of choice is, it will not help you. It is only an illusion of control.


I tell myself this as I write this blog, my lunch beside me. It’s a kale coleslaw salad with chicken and cranberries (with the dressing!) and blueberry overnight oats for after. I’m eating late, but I’m forcing myself to let go of the feeling of hunger because I’ve learned time and time again that depriving myself of food does not bring me closer to control, or God.


When life starts to spiral out of our scope of control (which it will, though I doubt I have to remind you) we have the option to do things that bring us closer to God or things that pull us away. When I’m freaking out because I can’t figure out what to do next, and I’m worried about everything, the goblin part of my brain that thinks not eating is a great idea starts crawling up from the car’s trunk where I’ve kept it and starts trying to get its hands on the wheel. The problem is that when the goblin is steering, I’m not getting closer to God. And I’m not being healthy, honest, or safe with the people around me.


God desires my greatest flourishing. And that involves giving up on the things I do to give myself the illusion of control, and to numb out my fear. So rather than doing nothing, and sitting paralyzed in my fear and helplessness, there are other things I can do to revel in the fact that despite all appearances, God has got me. 


I’ll be honest, I’m still working on it. I’m only twenty-two, I still have a lot of learning to do! But what I’ve come up with so far is packing a full lunch to give myself options, listening to worship music in the car, and inviting friends over for dinner, because it’s easier to eat with people. 


Community brings me closer to God. Control doesn’t


So when the goblin part of my brain starts curling its fingers over the driver’s seat, I hope that the people around me can say “Wow! That’s a goblin!” and I can find God in eating with others who desire my greatest flourishing, just like He does. So when the voices—and the goblin—in your head start getting louder and want you to hold onto the illusion of control, where are they turning the wheel? What behaviors are they steering you toward? And who is your community who will notice and walk with you, so you’re not alone?

 

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